


Help! My Boyfriend's Tiny!

by Incy Little Spider (1ncylilspider)



Category: Help! (1965), Help! - The Beatles (Song), The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Cutesy, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23369314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1ncylilspider/pseuds/Incy%20Little%20Spider
Summary: (Inspired by tumblr user's @macca-is-art's tiny Paul art which I love with all my heart)Ever since they found small Paul in a pile of clothes, John has been two seconds away from having a complete freak-out.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Help! My Boyfriend's Tiny!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Auroralunatica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auroralunatica/gifts).



Paul had been tiny for two hours now and John thought his chest would explode from anxiety. Ever since they’d discovered him in his suit pile, John had felt dangerously close to tears. He couldn’t cry he kept telling himself, he couldn’t cry and act like a child he had to keep it together. No one else was panicking. Ringo seemed bemused by it all, blinking his big blue eyes in confusion and George was acting like it was a big joke, laughing about Paul’s “micro-penis” to Paul’s tiny screams of disapproval. Paul of course was taking it all in his stride, covering his modesty with a sticky gum wrapper.

“I’m sure it’ll wear off sooner or later,” he kept saying in his little squeak of a voice. John had had him cradled in his palm since he’d been discovered. Whenever George or Ringo came near, he’d cup the tiny bassist protectively to his chest. Like a kid in the playground who didn’t want to share his treasure with his schoolmates. George and Ringo didn’t seem too offended by this thankfully.

He clearly wasn’t keeping it together very well because Paul had suggested he go have a lie down while he, George and Ringo tracked down the scientist to cure his tininess. The thought of letting him out of his sight made John’s hands shake. Paul had to grab onto his fingers for stability.

“You can stay with John,” said Ringo to Paul. “You’d not be much help anyway, no offense.”

“You could mosquito bite all the cultists into surrender,” said George with a smirk.

There was a little shout of “sod off Geo!” in response.

John wandered over and sat down in the nearest armchair, feeling like a right tit for getting so upset. He was so lost in his yucky feelings, that he didn’t hear the tiny squeaks in his hand. He yelped at a sharp pain in his pinky.

“Did you bite me?” he asked incredulously, lifting the man up to eye-level.

“Well you weren’t bloody listening to me were you?” Paul replied, his tiny hands on his tiny hips. John looked around to make sure no-one was around. Then he smirked at the man in his palm.

“Little bitey bunny,” John said teasingly. Paul pretended to pout although they both knew he rather liked all of John’s cutesy pet names.

“Can you put me down for a second, you’re hands all sweaty,” he said. Reluctantly John put him down on the armrest. The wrapper crinkled as Paul stretched out. John’s brief good cheer disappeared at once, replaced again by overwhelming anxiety that tightened his chest and throat, made his skin prickle and his heart pump too hard. What if they never found a cure, what if he was like this forever? He could just slip off the armrest and shatter every bone in his body. With a squeeze of some careless idiot’s fingertips he’d be a red smear on the ground. A squished beetle.

He felt his breathing getting harsher by the second and he was beginning to get light-headed.

“Johnny,” the little voice sang out. He opened up his eyes and saw Paul gesturing with his tiny hands. John put his hand on the armrest and Paul cuddled up next to it. John felt him stroke his thumb comfortingly.

“It’ll be fine, Johnny,” he said. He began to hum and then sing out;

“Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, how you can love?  
Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, Heaven's above  
You make my sad heart jump with joy  
And when you're near, I just can't sit still a minute  
I'm so, oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, please tell me, dear  
What makes me love you so?  
You're so handsome, it's true but when I look at you  
I just, oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, oh, da, da, da…”

The original lyrics said, “you’re not handsome it’s true,” and Paul had always insisted on changing it and singing it his way. He’d taken great offense at the “you’re not handsome” line as though the song had been addressing his Johnny personally. John had acted like Paul was being a git, but secretly found him changing the lyric on his behalf pretty damn cute.

The fear hadn’t gone completely but didn’t feel so heavy in his chest anymore. As always Paul had made him feel well comforted.

John liked to act the tough guy but privately, he felt the desperate need to be looked after. Although Paul was gentle looking on the outside, he had a strong and solid centre. It soothed John’s insecurities and made him feel safe and protected and not so fragile and scared.

The stress of the last two hours on top of the stress of the cultists in general had left him feeling exhausted. He rested his head against the back of the chair, breathing out hard.

“You can take a nap Johnny,” the tiny voice sang out. “I’ll just bite ya to wake you up again.”

John wanted to say something witty in reply, but his eyes were already falling shut. For a few moments he was in a swirl of panicky dreams, running down a familiar road back home, spider-like hands, covered in red rings chasing after him, the screech of a police car against the tarmac. Then he felt through the nightmare, the slightest tickling at his hand and a sweet voice singing out;

“…All the girls are crazy about a certain little lad  
Although he's very, very bad, he could be oh so good when he wanted to  
Bad or good he understood about love and other things  
For every girl in town followed him around just to hold his hand and sing  
Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, Johnny, how you can love?…”

The awful dream faded away into white fog. He was in the backyard at home, his three bandmates laughing, strumming guitars and smoking cigarettes. Running around their feet were four animals, a golden retriever puppy, a red fox, a grey bunny rabbit and a green-scaled dragon, chasing and playing with each other in the grass. John slowly realized what the animals represented.

The lads had participated in a particularly ridiculous photoshoot a few months earlier. When they’d heard what they had to wear, the lads had all stared at the photographer blank-eyed and incredulous.

“Look I know it’s silly,” the photographer had protested. “But the girls are gonna eat up this cutesy nonsense.”

“Everyone’s gonna love this back at home,” George had said glumly as they shuffled out of their clothes to get changed. “We’re gonna be a laughingstock.”

“Chin up, son,” said Ringo, toeing off his shoes. “We’re being paid big bucks to lounge around in daft pyjamas. We’re living the dream.”

Soon George the dragon, Ringo the floppy eared dog, John the fox and Paul the grey bunny rabbit stood before the flashing cameras, trying not to act like this was the stupidest thing they’d ever done. Paul ever the enthusiastic optimist, yelled ‘c’mon lads!’ and started bouncing around the studio. George decided he was going to run about, flapping his wings and blowing out cigarette smoke. At first it looked like he was trying to make fun of the whole thing, but half-way through the second lap around the studio it seemed like he was almost enjoying himself. Ringo and John, the two oldest, tried to stay cool and let the little kids have their fun but Paul and George refused to be the only ones making fools of themselves.

“The fox chases the rabbit!” George said, shoving John towards Paul. John had nearly fallen over his white-tipped tail. Paul had screamed like a little boy as John began to jog after him. It immediately made them all burst into laughter.

“God we look like a bunch of gits,” said John, smiling despite himself. He and Paul broke into a proper chase around the studio, Paul trying to avoid his grabby hands. Ringo, seeing that they’d all gotten into the spirit of it, half-heartedly batted his paws at the camera as George blowed smoke rings into the side of his face, flapping his wings.

Paul’s feet had gotten tangled in one of the wires allowing John to catch up to him. Grabbing the younger man around the middle he pretended to take a bite out of his neck. Paul squirmed and immediately John was taken by how bloody cute he looked, the grey rabbit ears flopping over his eyes. Predictably he was slick with sweat, Paul always the sweatiest of the lads, the studio lights and the fuzzy pyjamas not helping. He was so soft and warm in his arms. John breathed in the salty, shampoo smell of his hair, squeezing him tighter.

“That’s a wrap!” the photographer said, snapping John out of his spell. He pulled away from Paul, who looked at him with his soft, doe-eyes. They shared a secret grin with each other.

“The pyjamas are gifts by the way,” the photographer had told them, “A generous gift from us to you.”

“Gee whiz thanks mister,” said George dryly, immediately forgetting that he’d rather liked being a dragon. They all pretended to scoff and roll their eyes at the childish gift, but they all secretly enjoyed their cosy pyjamas.

John left his memory, returning to the dream. As the dragon flapped around Ringo’s head and the puppy dog barked and rolled around on its back, the red fox and the grey bunny were cuddled up beside each other, the bunny nuzzling the fox and the fox licking the bunny’s fur.

The dream slowly changed and he and Paul were in bed in the silly, ridiculous pyjamas, cuddling up underneath the blankets. Paul was pressing his mouth into his neck and John was kissing his dark black hair.

“It brings out your hair,” Paul whispered, stroking the red fur.

“I’m not a bloody ginger,” John whispered back.

“Are so,” said Paul with a grin.

“Don’t call me an arsehole,” John replied making Paul collapse into giggles. Somewhere far away, he could hear a faint crying. The smile fell from Paul’s face. He suddenly looked serious and sad-eyed.

“You’re needed back home,” he breathed out. John didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms but before he knew it, his eyes were flying open and he was back in the real world. He could still hear a soft crying sound. Blinking, he looked down at the armrest. Paul was curled up with his back to him. His tiny frame was trembling.

“Paul?” he said and the man froze. He swivelled around in his wrapper, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I thought you were asleep!” he said, with fake cheeriness in his voice.

“I was,” said John. “You good?”

Paul nodded overenthusiastically.

“Gear!” he said. John felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Paul was the one who had been shrunk but John was the one who had gotten upset and needed calming down. It was always that way. John got overwhelmed by touring and interviews so demanded comfort even though Paul must have felt the strain as well. John had an attack of the sads over his mum and cried into Paul’s arms, even though Paul never cried to John about his own mum. John felt a bit uneasy with taking care of others. It didn’t come naturally like it did for Paul. He reckoned he was pretty crap at comforting people.

But Paul must be terrified right now.

You’re so selfish, the nasty voice in John’s head said. You don’t deserve him.

Now isn’t the time, he told himself firmly, to start a bloody pity party about how much of a jerk you are.

Instead he reached over and gently picked him up, leaning down to see him better. Paul’s minuscule face was streaked with tears, the two glints of hazel all red rimmed and puffy. John used his fingertip to stroke his black fluff of hair.

He began to sing softly into his cupped palm, his hot breath cascading over the little body;

“Chalk on the sidewalk  
Writin' on the wall,  
Everybody knows it  
I love Paul.  
Tall Paul, tall Paul, tall Paul, he's-a my all  
Chalk on the sidewalk  
Initials on a tree   
Everybody knows it  
Paul loves me.  
Tall Paul, with the king-size arms  
Tall Paul, with the king-size charms  
Tall Paul, with the king-size kiss  
He's my all, he's my all, tall Paul is my love, Tall Paul is my dream, he’s the bassist in our rock and roll team.  
He's my mountain  
He's my tree,  
We go steady  
Paul and me.”  
  
The original song said tall Paul was the captain of a high school football team which John always thought was too American for his scouser from Liverpool. John didn’t think his version fit nearly as well, but Paul never seemed to mind.

Paul was curled up in his hand with his little fingers in his little pink mouth, his eyes half-lidded as John stroked up and down the curve of his spine. Leaning down, he planted a wet kiss to the other man’s nose.

“John!” he squeaked in protest. Suddenly there was a yelp and in all of a second, John had a big warm naked man in his lap.

“Cor, ya nearly broke me nose ya bastard!” he said, rubbing at where Paul had accidentally elbowed him. Then he burst out laughing.

“Why were we cryin’ and carryin’ on like a bunch of girls for?” John exclaimed. “Look ya back to normal!”

Paul was laughing, his hairy legs unpleasantly sticky with gummy residue and his nose dripping with saliva where John had kissed him.

“Tall Paul again,” he said and that sent them both into fresh rounds of laughter.

They looked up with a start as footsteps sounded on the floor. George and Ringo came clattering around the corner.

“Sorry to interrupt ya special moment,” said George at once with a big grin. Paul clapped his hands over himself and jumped out of John’s lap. He did an awkward run behind the nearest curtain to hide his nakedness.

“Looks like you’ve already figured it out,” said Ringo. The two lads stared at him with confusion.

“Well we found the scientist and they said it’s fairy-tale magic that’ll get Paul back to regular height,” Ringo explained. “True love’s kiss.”

John and Paul immediately flushed with embarrassment, knowing that they were gonna get the absolute mickey taken out of them. George and Ringo didn’t disappoint.

“N’aww, twu love kisses, so womantic,” George said fluttering his lashes and clutching his heart.

“Aww innit just pwecious,” said Ringo as he pretended to swoon.

“Sod off the pair of ya!” Paul replied from behind the curtain as John rolled his eyes. Inside he felt a flutter of pride. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at comforting people after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> So the first Beatle fic I wrote was smut, of course I follow it up with cutesy fluff. But yeah, seems I can only write Beatle fics if it's from one of the movies for some reason. Anyway this was inspired by tumblr user's @macca-is-art's tiny Paul pictures which are amazing.  
> The songs are Oh Johnny Oh by the Andrew Sisters and Tall Paul by Annette Funicello.


End file.
